


Once Upon a Sip of Punch

by inkysplots



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkysplots/pseuds/inkysplots
Summary: At a Masquerade Ball set in a newly revamped Hogwarts, the night takes a turn for the interesting once the punch is drank.





	Once Upon a Sip of Punch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dramione Fanfiction Forum Masquerade Fest. Anything you see and recognise belongs to J.K Rowling.

Hermione ran her fingers over the golden mask sat upon her bed, fidgeting with the cuff of her pyjamas with her free hand. It was gold, with delicately dyed red feathers sweeping up the left side of the mask and into where her hairline would be. She traced the red flecks around the eyes of the mask, and pulled her hand away with a sigh. Why must everything be red and gold? As if being part of the infamous “Golden Trio” wasn’t enough, now everything she wore must reflect that in some way? Her eyes travelled to the dress hung up on her closet door, grimacing as she saw yet more red and gold. At this rate she was going to look like an Oscar statuette. 

“-and I can't believe that dress was half off mum! Hermione will look so regal in it….” Ginny trailed off as she and her mother rounded the doorway to Hermione’s room and saw Hermione still in her pyjamas. “What? I can shower in under ten minutes, unlike you,” Hermione shot a joking glare Ginny’s way whilst Molly had started to cast spells at Hermione’s hair. “I appreciate the offer Mrs Weasley, I really do, but I need to shower first otherwise the spells won’t hold, you know how unmanageable my hair gets”, she protested whilst trying to dodge Mrs Weasley's wand which was waving dangerously close to her head. “Well hurry up dear! Ron is waiting for you downstairs, which reminds me Ginny,you need to get ready too! We can’t keep Harry waiting!” With a look of slight panic and well known frustration, Molly began to shoo Ginny out.“You can use our shower dear, but please don’t use up all the shampoo again! We can’t afford to be….” The voices faded into the distance, and were muted entirely by Hermione quietly slamming the door shut.

She leaned back against the door and ran a hand through her hair, before sliding down to sit against the door, rubbing her temples with her hands. This was not at all how she planned tonight would go. The media hype around Harry’s defeat of Voldemort had still not died down, and with Hogwarts re-opening tonight, she would bet money that every man and his would be there trying to get a story. Ginny had giggled her way through retelling her mothers stories of previous masquerade balls, and from what Hermione had gathered, it was a night for shady hookups and people generally being drunken idiots. In the silence of her misery, she heard the unmistakable thuds of Mrs Weasley, swore under her breath and scrambled to get off the floor and into the shower.

Hermione turned on the spray and passed her hand underneath, sighing in happiness as she felt the warmth of the water. At least Ginny hadn’t used up all the hot water yet. As she moved to unbutton her pyjamas, she caught sight of a rather large ink smear on her left forearm, no doubt from when she had fallen asleep on her parchment last night. She groaned, and licked her fingers before rubbing the mark viciously, hissing in frustration as she realised it wasn’t budging. “Oh for heaven’s sake, just what I need tonight.” With an annoyed sigh, she slid under the stream of the shower and closed her eyes in bliss. Showers had been a luxury she had missed when on the run, and even a few months on, she was still loving luxuriating under the spray. “Ah dammit!” She muttered as she realised her hair had gotten damp in her unfocused state. Resigning herself to the fact that she would have to spend hours dealing with her mane of hair, Hermione reached for the body wash and began scrubbing at the ink stain.

**************************************************************************************************

Several miles away, Draco stood with his mask in hand, dress robes pressed on his bed, looking at the obnoxious amount of emeralds around his mask. All the opulence and grandeur befitting the Malfoy family felt so wrong in his hands. “Seikhe,” he whispered, waiting for the crack that would signify the house elf had arrived. He turned the mask over, looking for the engraving that he knew would be on the inside somewhere. The crack of apparition pulled him out of his search. “Yes Master Draco?” The house elf bowed, then stood upright awaiting instruction. “I wonder if you could find Mother. There’s something I need to ask her,” With a small nod, Seikhe vanished with a much softer pop. 

Draco turned his attention to the robes on the bed. They were inoffensive enough, clearly expensive and tailored to him, simple in black with a light silver thread inconspicuously running along the edges of the hem. There were two options of shirt underneath, a vivid emerald green with actual emeralds inlaid in the buttons, or a pale grey to match the stitching in the robe, with a satin-like finish. “Come in,” he replied to the faint knock on the door, looking up to see his mother, pale and fragile as ever, cross the threshold.

“Mother. I hope you’ve been doing well. I know how hard it has been since Father….” Draco trailed off, feeling a slight twinge of shame for not checking in on his mother, despite them sharing the same large mansion. “Draco, you do not need to worry about me,” A smile ghosted across Narcissa’s lips as she said this, reaching out to hug her son. Draco accepted, tensing, then relaxing into the embrace.

“Why did you ask for me Draco?” Her voice sounded rusty, unused. Draco felt another pang of guilt but answered. “I wanted to ask if you would be offended if I chose to alter the mask for tonight? I know it is a family heirloom but, the emeralds and blatant Slytherin overtones are perhaps not the best choice given the….current climate.” He struggled to find the words, not wanting to upset his mother further. Things had been hard since his father had gone to Azkaban, and the last thing he wanted was to cause more hurt.

“No, I believe you’re right Draco. Please keep the shape the same, but you may alter it however you please. It is an heirloom on your father’s side and….I think you’re right, it is for the best, especially now,” Narcissa reached out to touch the largest emerald set into the mask, her eyes misting over, betraying emotions Draco had never seen before. She dropped her hand back and smiled at her son. “Have fun tonight dear. I’m so very glad that Hogwarts is re-opening.” With a quick kiss to his cheek, she silently slipped out of the room. 

Draco turned back to the shirts on the bed, and immediately dismissed the emerald one decisively. Laying the mask out on his dresser, he untucked his wand from his sleeve and began transfiguring the mask. First to go were the emeralds, leaving the mask all silver, with a few small diamonds, and intricate silver filigree around the edges. The band around the back was still violently green, which he changed to silver with a flick of his wand. A frown formed as he muttered “Nope, still not right…” - another flick of his wand had the band in the same deep black as his robes. He removed the diamonds from the front, added more filigree work to the gaps and placed a cushioning charm on the interior. It wouldn’t do to have his face hurting all night.  
Draco stood and placed the mask over his face, turning to admire his reflection in the mirror. His stomach fell as he saw not himself, but his father, wearing a silver half mask, in the employ of Voldemort. Ripping the mask off, Draco hurriedly made it a deep black colour, before sinking into the bed trying to calm his heart rate down.  
*********************************************************************************************************

Hermione felt like her life was moving in triple speed as she surveyed the witches fussing over her. Mrs Weasley was doing battle with her hair, Fleur had popped over to help with the make up for both her and Ginny. In this department, however, Ginny was more competent than Fleur, and she was torn between finishing getting herself ready, and helping her mother fight the battle she was losing with Hermione’s hair.

Hermione sat on the stool by the dresser, wincing every time Molly pulled on her scalp, which in turn made Fleur admonish her as she was trying to get her eyes just right. Currently Hermione’s hair resembled a ball of thick, bramble filled tumbleweed. “Have you got any Sleekeazy’s Mrs Weasley?” Hermione asked, wincing yet again as she felt another chunk of hair being ripped out. “Seet still ‘Ermione!” Fleur scolded, as she tapped Hermione on the nose with powder with a smile. “Oooh yes! Well...not quite, we’ve got some Lockhart Hair potions, I think those’ll work…” Mrs Weasley trailed off as she summoned a basket full of brightly coloured, and pungent smelling potions. “Here Ginny, take the green one, that's it, and dollop it onto her scalp.”

“Holy Merlin thats cold!” Hermione squealed as the potion hit her skin. A cautious sniff made her feel queasy, as the scent of multiple flowers and essential oil extracts hit her nose all at once. She had to admit though, her hair was deflating, slowly - she wasn’t sure if it was because it was covered in slime from the potions or if the potions were actually working, but her scalp didn’t feel numb from pain anymore either. Hermione closed her eyes as directed by the increasingly bossy Fleur - Hermione wondered where this attention to detail had come from - and almost relaxed in the feeling of being pampered. 

Next thing she knew, Ginny was shaking her out of her daydream and insisting she look in the mirror. To their credit, her hair did seem somewhat normal, tied up in an elegant chignon that was low enough for the band of the mask to sit above it, with her fringe swept to one side; it was complemented by the stunning job Fleur had done, a classic smokey eyes in dark neutrals and some stuff on her face that made it look smooth and...glittery? “Thank you so much, I would have no idea how to do this myself.”

Hermione was interrupted from her speech of thanks and admiration by Ginny reaching over and teasing out a few strands of hair by her ears “For artistic effect!” She nodded enthusiastically as she said this, making Hermione giggle at her over eager nature. “Okay Ginny dear, time to finish getting ready!” Mrs Weasley was almost dragging Ginny out of the room at this point, muttering about how her dress needed altering because Ginny had lost weight. Hermione stood and gave Fleur a hug, before she too was summoned by Mrs Weasley to help with Ginny’s make up.

Now all alone in the room Mrs Weasley had been gracious enough to offer her after returning from the battle, Hermione locked eyes with that hideous dress hanging on her door and whipped her wand out. There’s no way she was going to go looking like she was part of the Ministry statue. She paused and tilted her head to one side, surveying the dress. It was appealing enough, strapless, sweetheart neckline, dropped hem that was just around mid thigh and a nice full skirt on the bottom. It was perfect for dancing in, and it wasn't something Hermione would usually wear.

With a look of mild disgust, Hermione set about making the dress less hideous, changing the colour to a deep sapphire blue that under dim lights would look almost black, and changed the gaudy yellow stones that were liberally sprinkled on the dress to dark blue stones, vanishing half of them. Much better, she mused, until she caught sight of the glowing gold mask. A quick flick later and it was the same deep blue as her dress, with a black lace covering, and no rubies in sight.

Hermione went to the mirror to set her hair before climbing into her dress, and noticed some false lashes and lipstick left out for her, accompanied by a note. She opened the folded note and read “Dear Hermione, use these, and nobody will know it’s you, I promise! Love, Fleur.” “Well….how the bloody hell am I supposed to stick these things to my eyes??” She muttered angrily under her breath, looking at the back of the packaging. “Glue?! Oh heavens no, I’ll end up gluing my eye shut….I wonder if magic can make them stick?”

Tentatively, she picked up the first eyelash, placed it on her eye and felt the magic flow from her fingertips, through to her eyelid. Her hand came away shakily, ready to catch the black wisps but to her amazement, they stayed on. “Well, I’ll be damned. Thank you Fleur!” Hermione opened the lipstick and wound it up to see bright red staring back at her. Shakily, she swiped it onto her lips, having to go over the colour a few times to cover the spots she had missed. Once she was finished, she looked up at her reflection, and couldn’t believe how different she looked.

A loud cuckoo clock chime startled her into slipping her dress on. Her black heels felt foreign and were already uncomfortable on her feet, no matter how many cushioning charms she put on them. Hermione quickly grabbed her black sequin purse and mask before running down the stairs to meet Ginny, Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. Ginny and Harry were busy acting like lovesick puppies, while the other Weasleys stood off to the side, leaving Hermione to stand with Ron.

“Hermione. You look nice tonight.” Ron couldn’t be more terse if he tried. Hermione saw he couldn't even look at her and quietly rolled her eyes. “Oh Hermione! You changed the colour of your dress dear!” Mrs Weasley hurried over with a frown and began inspecting the dress. “Oh and you’ve removed some of the stones too, but why? It looked so pretty!”

“I guess I don’t just want to be known as the ‘Gryffindor Girl’ or ‘one third of the Golden Trio’ for the rest of my life, and the dress was almost reinforcing that.” Hermione looked at Mrs Weasley with a sense of regret and shame at altering the dress she’d helped her pick, but stood firm. “We really must get going though, aren’t we already late?” As soon as Hermione spoke those words, Mr Weasley began herding everyone out to the steps of the house, holding out an old tin can and looking at his watch. “Gather round everyone! 20 seconds! And don’t cut yourself on the open tin.” Bodies pressed together as everyone reached for a piece of the can, before they felt a sharp tug on their navels, and the Weasley back yard vanished in a swirl of colour.

*********************************************************************************************************

The next thing Hermione saw was the darkness at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and the smell of the trees. It felt like home, but tinged with something new, unfamiliar. So busy was she reminiscing that she almost fell face first into the mud, saved only by Ron’s swift hands around her waist. As soon as she was righted, Ron seemed to realise what he’d done, and quickly removed his hands, looking almost disgusted with himself.

As Hermione surveyed the portkey site, she saw the families of several people she knew; Neville and his grandmother, Neville waving, his grandmother smiling tightly, the Patil parents looking wonderous at the sight of the castle just up the hill, the Malfoys, Draco and his mother, their platinum hair standing out in the darkness.

The quiet murmurs stopped dead in their track as the carriages pulled up beside the guests, Hermione could hear the frantic whispers around her and her stomach dropped as she realised everyone could see the thestrals now. With a heavy heart, she patted the one closest to her on the nose, watching as the Weasley clan climbed into a carriage. Muttering in annoyance at the fact that carriage was full, she searched for a less occupied one and smiled as she found an empty one further down the line. Once secured inside, Hermione took out the invitation from her purse and began re-reading it for the hundredth time.

Dear Distinguished Guest,

It is our honour to invite you to the Grand Re-Opening of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, following several months of rebuilding efforts. The theme of the ball is Masquerade, so we ask that your eyes and any other distinguishing features be covered by the time you arrive at the castle doors. 

Masks can be purchased at Madam Malkins with a 10% discount code if you show them this invitation. The ball will run from 7pm till midnight on August 31st 1998, with food and drinks provided. 

Wands will be screened upon entry to prevent any attempts to overthrow the party.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress.

*********************************************************************************************************

Draco deliberately stood as far away from the others as possible, trying to shield his mother from their sight. He knew a lot of people still resented him and his family for their role in the war, and they had only come at the insistence of McGonagall. Otherwise he’d have avoided the whole damn fiasco. He was startled to notice he could see the thestrals, and subconsciously started rubbing his left forearm in a soothing gesture. Narcissa nudged him into the carriage where he began to reread the letter sent to all guests. 

“...Wands will be screened upon entry to prevent any attempts to overthrow the party…”

He felt his jaw clench re-reading that section and wondered if either his or his mother’s wand would get flagged, despite them both being cleared of any wrongdoing. Anxiety began to grip him like a vice, tensing his shoulders and neck, and making his knuckles whiten around his left forearm.

“Draco, it’s going to be alright. We were invited dear.” His mother's voice sounded stronger, strangely, which eased the knot forming at the base of his neck. A slight lurch meant the carriage had stopped, yet somehow Draco was unable to look at the door and see the castle again. “Draco.” His mother's voice was stern now, and he was transported back to a childhood of misbehaving, before his father had knocked it out of him. “Draco we must go. We do not want to appear rude.” Draco was pulled out of his trance by the stern voice of his mother, and he placed the mask over his face.

Looking at his mother, he noticed the striking blonde hair she wore loose, and frowned, casting a colour change charm over the both of them. Narcissa smiled as she saw the dark brown locks and nodded approvingly at her son whilst reaching to open the door for the both of them. Seeing the castle restored to its former grandeur sent a small chill down his spine, as the attendant ushered them into the Entrance Hall. 

*********************************************************************************************************  
Inside the empty carriage, Hermione pulled out the mask and affixed it to her face, grimacing as she felt the feathers tickle her hairline. “Oh rats! I knew I’d forgotten to change something,” She whispered as her wand flicked, and the feathers transformed from a deep red to a brilliant black, gleaming in the dim lighting of the carriage. Satisfied she looked presentable, she peered out of the window and watched as Hogwarts came into view, looking as majestic as ever. The carriage rumbled to a halt as the heavy wooden doors rolled into view, making Hermione shiver with anticipation at being back in her second home again.

Stepping out onto the soft grass, she felt her heels sink in immediately and her balance wavered, steadied only by the quick hand of the attendant. “Thank you, I forgot my repelling charm for my heels,” she mumbled sheepishly as her wand fixed her heels. Once righted, she gave the attendants arm a quick squeeze of gratitude and walked up to the doors.

Out of the way of everyone else, Hermione quietly rested her forehead on the thick oak, undamaged by the ravages of war, and felt her mind soothed by the castles familiar presence. The next carriage of people started to bustle past her, bringing Hermione back to the present. Shaking her head and smiling at the memories she’d just revisited, she made her way inside to the Entrance Hall. 

The room was crowded and warm, masked bodies shifting impatiently from foot to foot as they waited for the Great Hall doors to be thrown open. Hermione looked around at the Entrance Hall, noting it looked similar to her days as a student, except the golden statue that was previously gazing towards the staircases had been replaced by a large tableau of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione squeezed her way past several people to gain a closer look, and saw herself near the center, accompanying a triumphant looking Harry and Ron. She frowned at the inaccuracy of their faces, nobody had been anywhere close to joyous that day. Beside the tableau were the restored hourglasses, their gems twinkling in the torchlight, ready for new students.

Just as Hermione was about to reach out and examine the Gryffindor rubies, the doors swung open, and a rather forceful cool breeze buffeted the crowds, eliciting gasps from the overly warm witches and wizards. Hermione found herself being ushered through the doors and exhaled slowly in amazement as she saw the decorations for the ball.

The Great Hall had been refurbished as an exact replica of its predecessor, even down to the floating candles and the magical sky overhead. The house tables had been vanished, and instead there were smaller round tables to seat 5-6 people scattered around the edge of the room. Ice sculptures lined the left and right walls, and where the teachers table normally sat, a live band was warming up and interacting with the guests.

Just to their right Hermione spotted a large punch fountain, easily as big as a car, overflowing with a peachy red liquid. “I’ll bet any money that’s spiked by the end of the night,” she muttered to herself as she moved further inward. Hermione squealed suddenly, bumping into a chair as the person in front of her swerved.“Bloody Norah!” she hissed, rubbing the sore spot on her hip as she navigated to the punch bowl.

Across the room, Draco was ushering his mother to a chair in a darkened corner of the hall. Masks or not, he wasn’t about to parade himself in the spotlight in front of Gryffindors finest. “Draco darling, could you fetch me something to drink? Something strong preferably,” Narcissa asked with a tight smile. Draco knew the setting and crowds were playing on his mother's nerves, so he acquiesced and headed over to the bar.

“Two Firewhiskeys please.” Draco felt his throat hurt as he raised his voice to talk over the band. As he waited for his drinks, Draco scanned the room, trying to see if he could recognise anyone by size or shape. Hagrid was sticking out like a sore thumb, as was McGonagall, who didn’t appear to be in a mask. Instead, she was mingling and greeting everyone, Salazar knew how she recognised anyone. Filch was also skulking around the perimeter, sneering occasionally at people who seemed to be having too much fun. “Ere you go pal,” came a gruff voice behind him, followed by the clinking of glasses. With a brief “Thank you,” Draco made his way back to his seat.

“Why did we come here tonight Mother?” He asked, setting the glasses down on the table. “You know we’re despised in the community, no amount of galleons can fix this.” He spat the last part out, filled with rage and pain. “Not that we have any gold left to buy anyone with, Father saw to that,” Narcissa bristled at her son’s tone. “Your father was a terrible man who did terrible things. But he was still your father!” She stopped herself, sipped her whiskey before continuing, “We came here tonight so you would stop isolating yourself. You spend your waking hours pacing and practising with your tutor. You are eighteen years old, and your social life is shot to smithereens. I appreciate you had a hard time….we all did. But you must be the voice of the future for this family. Stagnation leads to decay.” Peering over the rim of her glass at her son, Narcissa took another small sip. Draco growled under his breath, and stalked off towards the buffet. At least the food couldn’t scold him.

“Professor McGonagall, I thought the whole point of the masquerade ball was for it to be anonymous?” Hermione’s voice held a note of irritation at being found out already. “And would it kill you to not shout my name across the room?” she muttered, smiling as Minerva reached her. “Miss Granger, such a pleasure to see you here tonight. You must try the eclairs, Winky tells me they are fantastic!” Hermione’s stomach began rumbling as she heard the mention of food, she hadn’t eaten all day. “Oh perfect! Also I think you can call me Hermione for one night Professor, I don’t start back until next month.” Minerva gave Hermione’s arm a small squeeze. “We are so glad you’re returning too. The students will need a strong role model to help guide them, especially after all this unpleasantness...” Minerva trailed off, the memories were a fraction too raw for both ladies.

Swiftly changing the subject, Hermione asked,“How are you recognising everyone tonight Professor? Isn’t the point of a masquerade ball to hide one’s identity and let loose?” Minerva chuckled and winked, before calling out to Seamus. Presumably with a warning to not use any explosives, Hermione mused.

“Fantastic! Just what I needed,” The crowds around the buffet had parted, and right in the center of the gap was a plate full of chocolate eclairs. Hermione made a rather undignified dash to the chocolatey goodies, piling three on her plate, and practically inhaled one on the spot. “Oh that’s heavenly,” Hermione murmured to herself, before remembering where she was, and grabbing a napkin to wipe her mouth.

A loud commotion drew her attention, it appeared that someone had fallen in the middle of the dancefloor. Hermione checked her watch and saw it was still far too early for anyone to be that drunk. “Or not,” she corrected herself quietly as she saw a very drunk Cornelius Fudge, mask fallen on the ground and lime green bowler hat being thrown in the air amidst whooping and cheering.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Draco practically spat, despite his position on the ground. “Scum like you deserve to be on the ground, you don’t belong in civilized society. You can hide your hair, and your face, but the stench of arrogance and entitlement will never disguise you Malfoy,” Draco listened carefully to the voice and deduced it to be that of Ronald Weasley. The oaf was even wearing a red mask, how patriotic.

Draco gathered himself to his feet, making a great show of dusting off his dress robes. “Ah Weasley, still wearing your sisters dress robes I see? I didn’t realise funerals could drain your pitiful finances that quickly,” Draco sensed a punch coming his way, but the ape was held back by another familiar voice and a messy black hairdo. “Ron, c’mon mate, he’s not - he’s not worth it, you know that.” Potter was struggling with the bulkier Weasley, but it still gave Draco ample time to smirk and saunter off into the crowd. Punch, he needed punch. Anything but another scolding from his mother for ‘not making friends’.

The smell of liquor in the fountain was overwhelming potent, something Draco desperately needed. The band had switched to playing something up tempo and funky, causing all the young couples to swarm the dance floor. Grabbing a pitcher, he filled it to the brim with the sweet concoction, choosing to stay by the fountain, as his pathway to freedom was blocked by raucous teens. “Oh marvelous, are there still pitchers left?” A feminine voice came from the direction of the buffet table. Draco silently gestured to the pile and resumed drinking. “I know it’s super early, but I just saw Fudge trying to juggle his bowler hat looking very red in the face. Besides, this whole thing is a farce. How are you enjoying it?”

The witch had barely paused for breath the entire time she was speaking, causing a slight tug of familiarity in Draco’s brain. He shook his head slightly and took another large swig of punch. “That bad huh? Let me make you a deal, the Daily Prophet reporters and photographers are here, and they aren’t letting anyone go until they’ve had a dance with someone.” The witch pulled an eclair from out of Draco’s view and began eating it quickly. Once finished, she raised an eyebrow at his silence but continued. 

“What do you think about us having the next dance, then I can eat some more eclairs, go home and take these cursed heels off?” At her question, Draco appraised the witch stood next to him, all he could hear was the ringing words of his mother to “be more socially fluid” or whatever she had said. Draco scowled into his punch, before downing what he had left of it, grabbing the witch’s hand and dragging her onto the dancefloor.

Hermione grinned as she was roughly led in front of the band; as much as she was enjoying seeing Hogwarts and everyone again, she’d have all year to get reacquainted, and right now, her feet were killing her. As her mystery man turned to position himself in the dancing pose, she tried to wave over the Daily Prophet photographer, hoping they could get snapped so she could get home.

Hermione turned back to her date and found herself in the arms of her suitor, pressed rather more closely than she typically would have liked. She studied his neck and hands, looking for signs of wrinkles or liver spots, but saw skin that looked smoother than her own. Young then, she mused, perhaps someone around her year in Hogwarts? The eyes seemed so familiar, but the dark brown hair felt out of place somehow. As a slow song started up from the band, Draco pull his dance partner in a little closer out of years of training - although training for what he wasn’t quite sure. He assessed his dance partner out of the corner of his eye - young, hands that had seen a lot of work so not a pureblood, brown eyes, brown sleek hair. He wondered if dating outside the pureblood circle would make his father die of shock.

As the dance wound on, Draco found himself rather attracted to the perfume she was wearing. It called to him, on a level he hadn’t experienced before. She had rather elegant shoulders too, he noted as they spun around the dance floor. Hermione was impressed that her partner knew how to dance, the nagging familiarity she felt was getting washed away by the warm feeling of being in someone's arms. She hadn’t had that since Ron, before the tent debacle, and part of her desperately wanted to feel that again. The music was soothing to her ears, and she felt secure in this mystery man’s arms, confident he would steer her around safely.

Draco found himself absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over the top of his partners hand as they danced, in fact he didn’t notice until she let go of his hand for a dramatic spin, her dress kicking up behind her. It was at that moment Draco felt a pang of familiarity, looking at the back of that head, yes it was sleek but he knew that hair.

Determined to get a better look at her face, he pulled her in closer and studied her intently. Hermione found herself a touch breathless as she was swept up further into his arms. His face was so close, those grey eyes...GREY. “Holy crap,” she muttered under her breath, not sure if he had heard her. As the band slid smoothly into another slow dance, Hermione chanced a peek at the couples around her and saw nearly everyone was lip locked or pressed together. Her mind raced back to what she had consumed that evening, lingering briefly on the eclair but coming up empty. “The punch, it must have been,” she whispered. This time her mystery date did hear her.

“What did you say?” They had stopped dancing at this point, sticking out like sore thumbs in a sea of swaying dancers. “The punch, I think it was spiked,” Hermione whispered. “What makes you say that? I haven’t felt any-” Draco stopped short, remembering he had indeed felt an unusual attraction to her from out of nowhere. They were still locked in a dancers embrace, neither of them wanting to move, and finding that their fear at being poisoned was quieting with every second. “You don’t care it was spiked?” Hermione asked cautiously. “You don’t seem to be moving,” she added, shifting her weight. “Not really, it’s just one night after all. And you were the one to ask me to dance,” Draco replied with half a smirk. “We should probably start dancing again, people are going to bump into us,” Hermione squeezed his hand gently to guide him away from their spot in the middle of the floor.

A third slow song melted into the ending of the second, giving the duo the perfect excuse to stay close. “I can really feel the effects kicking in now,” Draco whispered softly by her ear. “Are you sure you want to stay?” Hermione could feel the restrained concern creeping into his voice and assured him “I am just as poisoned as you, it’ll be better for the effects to work out naturally than to fight them,” She gave him a small smile as she continued, “the dungeons are still not fully repaired yet, so we couldn’t make an antidote if we tried,” Draco nodded, “This is true. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.” A swift kiss from Hermione shut him right up. “I know what it does. And I know what I’m getting into. Might as well enjoy the night while we can,” Draco grinned, feeling the effects of the potion fully kick in, and stopped their dancing, leaning down to kiss Hermione.

She knew this wasn’t going to be a gentle hesitant kiss, the potion was too strong for that. She welcomed the crushing kiss, winding her arms around his neck to grab fistfulls of hair and mask strap. Her fingers felt magic, confirming her earlier guess, however Hermione’s brain was fully checked out. His hands, resting on her hips, moved to pull her closer, press her body to his before softly moving up her back.

A blinding flash from the photographer startled the pair back from reality, breaking apart their kiss but not the couple. Hermione and Draco remained close, eyes searching the others face for any information. Shakily, Hermione whispered “Draco…?” He nodded, seeing her eyes flash with triumph. “Hermione?” His voice was stronger than hers. She nodded, before laughing, “That’s the first time you’ve ever used my first name!” He let out a soft chuckle, before gesturing to a table far away from his mother, shrouded in darkness.

“I remember you told me your feet were hurting you,” he mentioned as they wound past people to get off the dance floor. “Yes, but there are more more interesting ways to take the pain away,” Normally Draco would have been shocked at the sultry grin on Hermione's face, however he was currently sporting a matching grin.

“Well, how about we take these masks off first, before vanishing into the night?”Draco suggested with a smirk. “Sounds like a plan, you first,” Hermione gestured to his ornate silver mask, which came away with a wave of his hand, and the signature platinum locks were back in force. Hermione untied the ribbon on her mask, letting it slip into her waiting hand, the feelings stirred up by the potion becoming more and more insistent. “Your place, mine, or the dormitories here?” Draco asked with a wink.


End file.
